Gross Me Out
by Baroness Emma
Summary: Movieverse. During a very slow morning, Tony learns once and for all that he should never, ever, ever, ever bet against Pepper Potts. Rated for language and some grossness - well, obviously. My first IM fic, so please be kind.


**A/N** - Well now, here's a brand new fandom for me! *Waves to all here in the Iron Man section* I'm VERY new to IM generally, and I've only seen the movie. . . though I would love to be able to afford the time and money to read the comics. . . so please be nice. Constructive criticism would also be much appreciated - I take research and characterization very seriously, and don't write something unless I am fairly certain I can get it right - so if I am terribly off somewhere, please let me know!

I hope you all enjoy!

(^_^)

**Warning to all with delicate rating sensibilities** - Please read the title. I called it that on purpose, and it is rated for a reason.

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**Gross Me Out**

Tony was bored. It was the slowest morning he could remember in years, AND there had not been an excuse to take the Iron Man suit out for several days. Not that he NEEDED an excuse, but what with S.H.I.E.L.D. and everyone breathing down his neck, it would be so much better if he could point to some sort of emergency when he wanted to go joy-riding in his new über-hotrod-red-super-toy. Emergencies gave joy-riding _style_.

_More __**heroic**__. . . gotta look the part. . ._

He sighed. Everything was upgraded and polished and perfected to within an inch of its life, and there was not even a hit-and-run accident for an excuse to go show it off. There hadn't been for four _days_. What was wrong with California? L.A. _always_ had hit-and-run accidents. . .

Man, he was bored.

There was always paperwork to do, but that was as about as exciting as freeze dried tomatoes. On a stick.

He was about to start chewing a corner of his keyboard when Pepper came in with his morning report and his first shot of espresso.

"Hey Potts," he called, desperate for _anything_ out of the ordinary, "Come try to gross me out."

She stopped, the sudden cessation of the click-click of her stilettos communicating her shock even better than did the blanking of her features.

"Good morning to you too, Tony," she said, suspiciously, "What's up?"

"Nothing, and that's the problem," he leaned back in his chair as she began walking toward his desk again, "So, I am giving you this once in a lifetime chance - come here and try to gross me out."

She rolled her eyes, "That is not in my job description Mr. Stark. . ."

He chuckled, "Uh-huhhhh, and exactly how much of what you do for me IS? C'mon Pep. Gross. Me. Out."

She raised an eyebrow, "Is that possible, Mr. Stark?"

"Sure," he shrugged as he reached for the espresso, "But you are such a good girl you probably won't go for it. . ."

She huffed a laugh, pulling the coffee out of his reach, "Oh - you wanna bet?"

For just a second, Tony hesitated. A bet? With Pepper? "Yeah sure, why not? You do it and I'll send you to Stark Industries' exclusive spa for a day, and if you can't I'll make my own coffee for a week."

She sighed lightly, "I can go to the spa anytime I want, Tony, and you can't even MAKE your own coffee."

"Yes, I can - I had JARVIS print out the directions in binary code - I memorized them in 2 minutes flat - and if you INSIST on special treatment, fine, I will escort you to the spa myself. . ."

"Tony," she interrupted, "You _know_ that if you make YOURSELF the prize here, I am not going to play this game."

"Fine - pick your own prize then - is it a bet?"

She put the espresso down in front of him, "Yes. Don't drink that for just a second," and she rummaged in her purse for a moment and brought out a pamphlet, putting it in his hand with a _very_ smug, "There you go, Mr. Stark."

Tony almost dropped the paper when he read the title - "Phyto-nutrients and You - Getting the Most out of Your Bowel Irrigation Regimen."

"Pepper!" he gasped, "Why the _hell _am I looking at a pamphlet about _coffee-enemas_?"

"It's a bet, Mr. Stark," she answered sweetly, "All's fair in love and war."

He was completely incapable of answering her in the way he wanted to, because he was reading - "For the first month, proceed with one round a week, and for the next month, two rounds a week. . ."

Pepper broke in - "Sugar?"

"Huh? What?" he waved away the two packets of C&H she was offering, "No, thanks. . ."

He read on - "It is necessary to retain the mixture for ten minutes to ensure proper bowel flora and productive gall-bladder emissions. . . "

He closed the pamphlet. Quickly. But not before he had seen the name of the natural health-care provider printed on the paper. It was the one that he knew Pepper frequented, and. . . . oh _hell_. . . . now he HAD to ask. . .

"So, uh - have you actually. . . ?" he tried to be nonchalant, and picked up his neglected espresso.

She looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

"And?. . . . . ."

"And, it's about as much fun as sticking a tube up your rear and sloshing it around a bit."

He choked.

She added, "That is to say - not much fun at all."

He blinked, spluttering, "No shit?"

"Wrong expletive, Tony. Cream?" She held out a pitcher.

"What?! Um. No, thanks."

He set his espresso down. Gingerly. Suddenly, coffee was a no-go.

Daaaaamn. _Score one for Miss Potts._

"So, do I win, Mr. Stark?"

He handed her the pamphlet back as though it was a full diaper. Which, he supposed it was, in a way.

_Uh, ew._

"You certainly do, Miss Potts. Name your prize."

"Good," she smiled, a hint of evil ever so slightly tugging at her lips, "I want you to make your own coffee for a week."

He muttered thickly, "Uh, you realize that it is going to be impossible for me to do that now, right?"

She sauntered away, settling her clipboard against her hip. He watched her retreating backside with considerably less than his usual relish. Suddenly, backsides were also a no-go.

_Damn._ Score _two_ for Miss Potts.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to suffer then. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

_Oh, I'm suffering here Potts. __**Trust**__ me. _"Oh, you _betcha_, Pep. See you later."

As soon as she was out of sight, he made a lunge toward the Suit. He HAD to go out now, because he was pretty sure that encounter qualified as a hit-and-run. . .


End file.
